27
CHAPTER
Not with a Club, the Heart is broken
Nor with a Stone—
A Whip so small you could not see it
I’ve known
To lash the Magic Creature
Till it fell
Nor with a Stone—
A Whip so small you could not see it
I’ve known
To lash the Magic Creature
Till it fell
Strange things were happening in the world above
the labyrinth. Distant cries and lights made the night Hours
mysterious and unsettling. Felas gave birth to kittens too unusual
to survive, and Prince Dewtreader of Firsthome made dire
pronouncements. Many Folk were afraid. The ground everywhere felt
unsolid—shifting and treacherous.
The Eye opened to its fullest a complete sun-turn
earlier than expected, and hung red and swollen in the sky. Meeting
Nights were full of unanswerable questions and nameless fears.
Blind Night, the night of greatest darkness, was coming. Some
whispered that this time the darkness would bring the
os.
The os was on the tongues of many, and in
the minds of more....
Below the ground, the Great One on his carrion
throne of death and dying worked a web of curious forces. Energies
beat and pulsed through his seat of power so intensely that
sometimes the air itself in the Cavern of the Pit became as solid
and resisting as water. Strange images waxed and waned, flickering
at the edge of vision like lightning on the eyelids of a sleeper.
At times, now, none but the Boneguard could attend the Lord of All,
and the Claws would stand muttering in the tunnels outside the
Master’s cavern.
Even Tailchaser, on the periphery of Vastnir’s main
arteries, could sense the imminence of ... something. Scratchnail
had ceased talking altogether—mumbling and howling alike—and
plodded along with a dull, lifeless sheen on his deep eyes. He
stopped incessantly to scratch, gouging at his dark fur with
crimson claws until it seemed he must draw blood. Fritti
understood. His skin, too, was crawling.
The trio had paused by one of the main passages,
looking down a dark, sloping access tunnel to the broad causeway
below. Teams of Clawguard marched purposefully by, or harried
fainting, stumbling prisoners. At Tailchaser’s side Skinwretch
cocked an ear to the sounds of pads scuffling endlessly past.
“Aaaahh.” The Toothguard beamed, his scarred face
crinkling into a complexity of lines. “Hear that? Lisssten. Great
thingsss are afoot ... great thingsss.” The naked snout took on a
dejected cast. “The unfairness of it. That a faithful sservant,
sssuch asss I ...” He made a sniveling sound. Fritti, worriedly
watching the Clawguard legions, nodded his head
distractedly—forgetting momentarily that the other could not see
him.
“I was born to sserve the Lord of All,” Skinwretch
lamented. “How could I have been brought to thiss low
essstate?”
The Toothguard’s reproachful words finally sank in.
An idea began to form in Tailchaser’s mind.
“Skinwretch, I have something important to tell
you,” Fritti said in a low voice. “Let’s move back up the corridor
a bit.”
When they had walked back to stand by the stu
porous Scratchnail, Fritti said: “You say you are loyal to the ...
the Lord of All?”
“Oh yessss!” Scratchnail eagerly affirmed. “It iss
my one purpose!”
“Then I can tell you my secret. Do you promise to
keep it?”
“Oh, certainly, Tunnelwalker, mossst asssuredly!”
Skinwretch bobbed up and down in a horrible parody of
trustworthiness. “I ssswear by the Foaming Ssstone of the
Toothguard!”
“Good.” Tailchaser deliberated for a moment. “Lord
He—the Master—has grave need of information from a certain
prisoner. He does not trust his chiefs, though. Some of them, like
... well, if I must say it, like Hissblood, have shown themselves
to be unreliable—if you understand me.”
The Toothguard was jiggling excitedly. “Of course!
I understand. Like Hisssblood! Exactly!”
“Well,” continued Fritti importantly, now warming
to the deception, “he has chosen me to find and observe the
prisoner. But no one may know! You can see that it would be
... well, unwise, especially now!” He was a little unclear himself
on the logic of this, but Skinwretch seemed enraptured by the idea.
“Anyway,” he added, “the Lord of All has chosen me, and I am
choosing you. You must find the prisoner for me, and no one must
know why, or even suspect. Can you do that?”
“Clever Tunnelwalker. Who will sssusspect old,
crippled Ssskinwretch? Yesss, I ssshall do it!”
“Good. The prisoner you must find for me is the
fela who accompanied the escaping Tail ... Tail ...” He hemmed and
hawed convincingly. “Tail chooser. The one Scratchnail raves about.
The fela who was with him survived, did she not?”
“I do not know, Tunnelwalker, but I ssshall find
out,” said the blind creature soberly.
“Very well,” said Fritti. “I will meet you on this
spot when three work shifts have passed. Can you find it
again?”
“Oh, yesss. Now that the Ssscalding Flume no longer
boilss my earsss I can find my way anywhere.”
“Move, then, and take Scratchnail with you—only,
keep him out of trouble that will draw attention.” Fritti
especially did not want to be yoked himself to the powerful,
maddened beast—who would be even more of a danger if his memory
returned. “And remember,” he added, “if you betray me, you betray
your Master. Go!”
Fraught with newfound purpose, Skinwretch hurriedly
roused Scratchnail, and the two went trudging away.
Tailchaser stifled an impulsive sneeze of pleased
laughter as he watched them disappear. The hardest was yet to
come.
With that matter settled, Tailchaser felt his
fever-swift thoughts begin to slow down. He was very hungry. This
presented a problem. As he stood close to the tunnel wall and
watched yet another press gang of captives being herded out to the
diggings, he considered his alternatives. He supposed that he could
try to stay inconspicuously on the edge of things—stealing a meal
here or there, trying to avoid the guards by stealth and speed.
Sooner or later, though, he would be caught. There were no free
Folk roaming about the mound—at least, none that he had seen. It
was courting disaster, and he had a mouthful of trouble
already.
Another clutch of prisoners, overseen by a pair of
surly. Claws, moved along the passage below him. As they passed his
hiding place, one of the slaves near the front collapsed. There was
a great yowling and snarling as others tried to leap over the
fallen one, and collided with their fellows. The two Claws, red
talons shot, waded into the flurry.
Fritti seized this chance, bounding out of the
tunnel and moving rapidly toward the rear of the line.
It will be easier to escape from one of these
gangs than to live like a Phantom for very long, he decided.
Also, who would hunt for an escaped prisoner in a prison
cave?
“You little sun-rat!” rasped a voice. Tailchaser
looked up into the heavy-jawed face of one of the guards. “I saw
that!” the Claw snarled. “Try sneaking off again and I’ll slit you
from gorge to tomhood!”
The crush of tunnel salves surged forward again,
bearing Fritti along.
Life with the slave gang was not as difficult as
it had been before. He was stronger after his interval in Ratleaf;
though the hunting had been sparse, still he had eaten better than
the poor beasts with whom he was imprisoned. It saddened him to see
the misery and suffering around him—but this time things were
different: he had joined this press of captives by choice; he was
operating in secret. Although his heart warned him against
foolishness, he could not help feeling a quiet pride. He had a
purpose, and so far he was succeeding remarkably. His luck
had been dancing.
The prisoners, too, could feel the difference in
the mound’s atmosphere. The stirring, anxious sense of impending
events had beaten them down. No prisoners told stories, or sang.
Even the arguments were lackluster, dispirited. Collectively the
slaves were cringing; they were waiting for the blow to fall.
One of the other captives told Tailchaser
laconically of the rumors among their warders: about the lights and
noises in the Cavern of the Pit, and of the assembling of Claws and
Teeth into bridling, impatient units who were then sent out to
farther tunnels. Trying to appear unconcerned, Fritti milked the
prisoner—a one-eyed tabby named Fumblefoot—for more information,
but the weary cat had no more to offer.
Fritti had been with the tunnel slaves for two work
shifts and his impatience was rising: he knew that his time was
running out. All he could think of was the danger that his friends
were in. Firsthome and the fate of the Folk had faded from his.
memory as useless abstractions. After he left Fumblefoot,
Tailchaser sat humpbacked in the corner of the cave until the
guards came to drive them forth.
The dirty, back-bending digging time oozed by as
slowly as running sap. Although his paws were cracked and bleeding,
Fritti dug as though consumed—striving to obliterate the dragging
Hours by main force.
When the smirking Claw at the mouth of the tunnel
growled down the order to quit digging, Tailchaser and the other
weary prisoners began to mount upward. Carefully falling behind, he
stopped as the last cat before him strained up over the tunnel rim,
then quickly doubled back down the short passage and threw himself
to the earth at the end of the hole they had been excavating. He
wiggled as far beneath the piles of loose soil as he could and lay
quietly.
The sounds of the milling prisoners drifted down
from above. For a moment, a burning golden eye looked down into the
tunnel, but dirt and darkness hid Tailchaser from all but the
closest inspection, and soon he heard the press gang crunching
away. He remained silent at the burrow’s end while his heart beat
many times, then finally crept cautiously toward the surface.
The small cavern from which the tunnel network led
was empty. The dim earth-light revealed no movement but his own.
Nonchalantly but rapidly he groomed the worst of the dust from his
face, legs and tail, then moved silently out into the larger shaft
down which his fellow prisoners and their guards had already
vanished.
In the cavern where Pouncequick lay dreaming of
the white cat, Roofshadow herself was also finally sleeping. The
strain of anticipation—waiting for the return of the vengeful
Clawguard—and the enforced helplessness of her situation had worn
her down until she could no longer muster strength or worry to
resist. Chin on paws, she had lain for a long time staring at the
peaceful, helpless forms of Pouncequick and Eatbugs, and
hopelessness had drifted over her like a warm mist. When the guard
thrust his malignant head into the chamber he saw all three of the
cats lying in deathlike stillness. With a yellow-fanged grin of
approval, he withdrew.
Eatbugs’ eyes blinked open. For a moment, while his
body still lay slack and motionless, they filled with an intense,
cool fire. Then the light flickered in their depths, and seemed to
die. The lids sagged back into place, and all was still as stone
once more.
Skinwretch was waiting for Fritti when he arrived
at the spur tunnel. The Toothguard was doing a little dance of
anticipation, his furless tail kinking and wriggling like a
drowning nightcrawler. Tailchaser, who had spent what seemed like
Eyes and Eyes working his way carefully across the mound to this
spot, approached as quietly as he could, only to be greeted by
Skinwretch’s shrill, excited hiss.
“Tunnelwalker! Have you come? I have newsss,
newsss!”
“Silence!” Fritti himself hissed. “What
news?”
“I have found your prisoner!” said the Toothguard
gleefully. “Ssskinwretch hasss done it!”
Tailchaser felt the pressing of time. “Where? Where
is she?”
Skinwretch grinned, the mouthful of teeth below the
scarred snout gleaming crazily. “Not far from here, oh yesss, very
clossse. Oh, clever Sskinwretch hass ssserved the Lord of
All!”
Trying to keep his patience, Fritti waited with dry
mouth as Skinwretch described where Roofshadow was being held. When
the eyeless Toothguard had finished Tailchaser began to back away,
planning furiously, then suddenly stopped.
I’d better keep up appearances, he thought.
This creature is a terrible enemy, but he makes a good
ally.
“You have done well,” he told the Toothguard. “The
Master will be pleased. Remember, not a word to anyone!”
“Of coursse not. Not clever Ssskinwretch!”
As he watched the creature’s mad caperings, Fritti
suddenly noticed something he had missed in his excitement.
“Where’s Scratchnail?” he demanded. “You were to keep him with
you.”
A sudden look of fear crossed Skinwretch’s ruined
features. “Oh, Tunnelwalker, that one. He isss full of ossss. He
would not stay by me, and I could not make him—he iss very
powerful, you know. He ran off into the tunnelsss, crying and
ssaying ssstrange thingsss. He wasss punished becaussse of the
prissoner, and he iss sssick with the osss.”
Nothing to be done, thought Fritti. “Never
mind,” he told Skinwretch, who brightened immediately. “Go on, now,
and if I need you I will find you.”
Tailchaser darted out of the spur tunnel and across
the main shaft, stopping in an alcove on the far side, shielded by
darkness from observing eyes. When he looked back he saw
Skinwretch, maimed face in a crooked smile, still leaping and
jigging in the shadows.
Hiding in pools of deeper shade, stealing quietly
past squadrons of bristling, congregating mound-dwellers, Fritti
moved like a spirit-cat through the awakening underworld. The
mound-beasts were everywhere—moving, whispering, flexing sharp red
claws.
Fritti reached the junction of three tunnels that
Skinwretch had described. Looking cautiously around, and seeing no
one paying attention, he ducked down the passage that the
Toothguard had instructed him to take. Tail erect, whiskers
tingling and every bit of fur puffed upright, he crept
downward.
A shaft entrance in the tunnel wall ahead. That was
the one! He felt an urge to leap, but controlled himself.
Carefully, carefully ...
He reached the hole and peered cautiously down. In
the dim light at the bottom of the shaft he could see ...
Pouncequick! His heart leaped. The young kitling and Roofshadow
were being kept in the same cave! His luck was holding.
Leaning farther forward, he could now see two more
shapes. Roofshadow! And was the old one Eatbugs? But why weren’t
any of them moving? Could they be ... but no. He could see
Pouncequick’s sides rising and falling.
Something crashed down on him like a toppling tree.
With a yowl of pain he tumbled to the side of the cavern entrance.
Standing over him with a massive paw cocked for another blow was a
large black shape. The half-familiar face of the Clawguard leered
down at him.
“What are you up to, then?” the brute
growled.
“N-nothing!” squeaked Fritti. “M-m-my name is
T-Tunnelwalker, and I’ve lost my way.” He tried to make himself
small against the earth. The Claw leaned closer.
“Is that right?” he snarled, and his hot breath
made Tailchaser blink. The beast’s eyes narrowed. “Just a moment.
You look familiar. What’s that mark on your head?”
His head? Forehead? Skydancer’s Tears! Fritti
cursed himself. He must have wiped the masking dust from his face
when he had emerged from the slave tunnel.
Fritti made a sudden squirming movement toward
escape, but the heavy paw descended on his neck, scarlet claws
softly pricking his throat.
“By the Great One!” said the Claw. “If it isn’t our
little escaped sun-rat! Isn’t that fine!”
In a rush of despair, Fritti recognized his captor.
It was Bitefast, Scratchnail’s former companion, who now bared his
teeth at the trapped Tailchaser in a terrible smile. “Well now,”
chuckled the Claw, “it’s awfully good that I should be the one to
find you. Because of you, they ruined the chief. All because of
you!” The paw pushed cruelly down on Fritti’s throat. He coughed
helplessly.
“Well, I’m the chieftain now.” Bitefast smirked.
“And I’m going to make sure you get what you deserve.” The black
beast squatted, and pushed his deep-set eyes up next to the face of
his wheezing captive. The Claw’s voice descended to a vindictive
whisper.
“I’m going to take you straight to the Fat
One!”